


Make Love Not War

by Ayngelcat



Series: "When Optimus had gone...." Elita One and the femmes on Cybertron [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, Dream Sex, F/M, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex, non con sexual trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tf_speedwriting 7/7/13, prompt same name as title.</p><p>Optimus has definitely been gone too long! PLease see tags above for *warnings.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Love Not War

He drove into her, a colossus of power and need, his length of hot steel shot with charges that caressed her valve, sent wild pleasure through every circuits, thrumming in every node. “Optimus” she cried, clutching at his thrusting loins and pulling him in harder, faster, as her legs wrapped around his frame.

“Elita,” he rasped. “I need this, need you. Its been so – long.”

He went hard at it. Elita felt him through their connection, his fierce desire for her, his raw pleasure at the deepness of the penetration, the buildup of massive charge, the glorious release that would soon occur. It drove her on, ever closer to her own crest. She gritted her denta and angled her hips to allow him more and he obliged, crying out himself as he raised himself on his hands and fucked her with war-like fury.

He filled her, pounding in, glorious and huge. She was rising up, up, energy pulsing through the connection in time with his thrusts as she got closer and closer and closer…. but there was more; heat burst from his chest as spark energy poured into the mix, pleasure fusing with emotion in a tumult of lust with love.

Delirious with sensation, Elita onlined her optics. Blinding, beautiful light flooded her visuals, his chest a glowing open mass. Above, the outline of his helm shimmered through the radiance, noble and proud as his optics burned with fierce desire.

Elita whimpered, her fingers curling into him. She arched up, surrendering, giving herself to him as her own chest opened and tendrils snaked from her own spark to wrap around his. Optimus slowed his strokes, grunting as he plunged into the last throws of passion, and she felt all that was him, from the length of his spike to the magnificence that was his spark.

“Oh Elita …” His whole frame shuddered, an agony of pre-overload release. “Optimus!” she cried again, her voice fainter, more of a whisper. “I want …” he gasped, “I love…oh sigma...”

He could not wait any longer. His last thrusts turned desperate, anguished, armour thrashing against her as their sparks twisted in a mad dance of need. He reached his peak and froze, every component rigid; then he slammed in one more time, crying out as overload struck. Hot fluids gushed into her as the long pent up charge exploded out of his chest, nearly offlining her in the force of its release.

The universe sizzled in ecstasy. Elita hung on as he pulsed into her, optics offlining, whimpering as she absorbed it all. Then her own charge soared again and it was too much, and release was upon her, as inevitable as the cycles of the moons. Elita let go, clutching his metal as she screamed, arching up as her own tumultuous climax exploded back into him.

They lay there, a mass of merged metal and entwined appendages as blissful energy flowed between their sparks, their cores. Elita kept her optics offline, basking in the sensations, the touch, the beloved scent of the mech above her and all that was him. They stayed like that for a long time, and Elita did not move until she felt their sparks slip apart, the tendrils disentangling, his spike slowly leaving her as he heaved himself up.

“Don’t go…” she murmured, reaching up to him. “I must,” he said, removing himself from the berth. "I have much to attend to." And his voice sounded – odd.

A chill shadow swept through Elita, as with a joyous event suddenly inflicted by tidings of terrible news. Her optics snapped open. She gazed up, needing to see her love, her Prime, to know that all was well within the universe, all was as it should be….

But unthinkably, horribly, it was not; for there was no Prime. A different mech loomed above her, angular and huge, caste in dreary shades of purple and black. On his chest a Decepticon emblem blazed. A single red optic stared, piercing her like a shard as a spindly finger touched her cheek. “You are beautiful, Elita.” Shockwave whispered. “And I always thought it would be – enjoyable – between us. Soon I will not have to implant the memory of your former lover, as you will want me for who I am.”

Moon and stars! The bliss of before shattered as Elita nearly purged. It was - HIM? He had - violated her? Her spark withered, she wanted to curl in a ball and never emerge, Primus help her that in that way she would never speak of the abominable fact, and Optimus would never get to hear of it.

But no. She was Elita, warrior and ruler of Cybertron. The programming of ancient Trion flowed through her circuits. She was Optimus Prime’s bondmate, and this imposter, this _thief_ , this one who dared to think he could take what belonged to the greatest mech that ever lived was never going to get away with it.

Elita launched herself as him, snarling and savage like a wild cybercat. But her hands met empty air. His form dissipated, turning to shadows that drifted away, leaving strange scents and a heavy melancholy. “Elita,” his voice echoed, sad, yet resigned. “Forgive me, but I cannot resist you. Please see this differently…we must make love, not war…”

And then, online sequences were pinging, and Elita knew at once that it had all been a dream. Alone in her berth, the room was empty and cold, the memory and its ghastly implications already fading. Yet her body still pulsed, alive with the satiation that had somehow punched through the dream, had brought her the arousal and release she’d been needing for so long.

She had to face facts. Optimus had been gone too long. And Shockwave’s intentions were obvious.

 _But no, darn it!_ Elita sat up _No! That does not mean that I have to … no! Shockwave is not Optimus. He never will be. He never could be and I will NEVER want him for himself._

Make love not war. _Go to hell._ Elita hardened, resolute as she activated her com. “Chromia,” she snapped, “I need your help. I need to find a way that I _don’t_ have any more of those completely unacceptable dreams!”


End file.
